


Dress to Impress

by vassalady



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Bottom Steve Rogers, Canonical Character Death, Crossdressing, Dancing, Dresses, F/M, M/M, Minor Character Death, Multi, Polyamory, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Pre-Captain America: The First Avenger, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-15
Updated: 2014-07-15
Packaged: 2018-02-08 22:53:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 19,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1959135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vassalady/pseuds/vassalady
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve wears his first dress at age 13. After that, his life goes through a series of ups and downs, love and loss, until he finds his place in the world with three very important people.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Before the Ice

**Author's Note:**

> Also contains brief Peggy Carter/Steve Rogers, but not enough to tag it.
> 
> I wrote this fic in four days, which means it pretty much just wrote itself. I had intended to write crossdressing Steve, because I absolutely love it, but then it became more about Steve's life in general (there's still some sex with Steve wearing pretty things, though. :D)
> 
> I'm very fond of it for what it is, and I hope you enjoy! Heavily Steve/Bucky focused, but that's primarily because half of it takes place before and during The First Avenger.
> 
> Also, as far as timeline goes, I went with when the movies roughly came out. So Steve wakes up some months before the Avengers, Cap 2 happens a couple years after that.

Steve first does it when they are young and just never stops.

At age 13, Steve is eager to explore the adult world. He wants to be part of it, he wants to feel part of it. Bucky is a year older, and while he can’t make any claim to being an adult, he puts on airs to impress Steve.

There’s a club Bucky has been to once or twice. He can pass as older; he hit a growth spurt that made him almost as tall as his father. He’s lanky, yet to fill out his height, but he will. Steve, on the other hand, still looks like the little boy he is.

“Hey, don’t worry, buddy,” Bucky says. “We’ll think of something.”

Steve comes up with the idea one summer afternoon. Bucky is tending to Steve’s busted lip, which his mother is going to give him hell for when she sees it that evening. One of Bucky’s sisters, Rebecca, plays with her doll on the floor. Becky is a few years younger than Bucky, but she’s as big as Steve, if not a bit taller. People mistake her for older all the time.

She takes off the doll’s dress, and without it, it is a genderless toy, just a plain pale body with a mob of dark hair on top.

“Hey,” Steve says, the idea popping into his head, “what if I dressed as a girl? I could pass then.”

Bucky seems skeptical, but they end up borrowing a dress from Becky. It takes Bucky promising her all his candies for the next week for her not to tell, but Steve assures him it’ll be worth it. They pick out her most adult-looking dress. It’s fairly plain, with a row of black buttons down the back and a broad piece of white cloth around the waist. But it is a deep blue that is absolutely gorgeous.

Steve slips it on and turns to the mirror in Mr. and Mrs. Barnes’s room. He still looks like a boy, just one in a dress, hair sticking up, and his lip still cut. Maybe it isn’t a good idea.

But then Bucky steps up behind him, brush in hand. “Come on, we just have to do a little more work.”

With an expertise that shows how often Bucky helps his sisters get ready each day, Bucky brushes out Steve’s short hair. Then he rifles through his mom’s things to find the make-up Becky usually “borrows.”

Bucky’s hand underneath Steve’s chin is warm, and Steve lets Bucky work. It tickles and feels uncomfortable, but a soft kick to his shin keeps him from squirming.

He hears Becky say, “Put this on.” A moment later, Bucky fixes something in his hair.

“Yeah,” Bucky says, sounding a little breathless. “That’ll do.”

Steve opens his eyes and looks in the mirror again. He definitely looks older and definitely more feminine. He gently touches the bow in his hair. It gives him that little bit extra femininity he didn’t have before.

“You look damn good as a girl, Steve,” Becky says, before Bucky sharply tells her to mind her language. It’s hypocritical, as Bucky swears up a blue streak, only to be outdone by Steve himself. But Becky calls them both on it, too.

“You really think this will do it?” Steve asks.

“Hey, you’re the one who said it would,” Bucky says. He looks Steve up and down before wrapping his arms around Steve from behind. He smirks. “Gonna take my girl out, and no one will ask questions.”

Steve can barely breathe until they’re ushered into the club after Bucky gives a cryptic codeword. Amazingly, they get in without a second glance. Inside, a jazz band plays, and couples populate the dance floor. Within minutes, Steve and Bucky are offered glasses of something that tastes foul and strong. The waiter calls it champagne; it’s the worst bathtub gin Steve has tried. He hasn’t had a wide variety, but what the Barnes family makes in their house is much better than this. However, with only a glass each (all they can afford), Steve feels like he’s floating on air. He dances until his body protests.

He spends the rest of the night leaning on a table, watching Bucky dance, wishing he could be there with him. Bucky dances with a variety of ladies, and more than once, he leans over and points at Steve. That usually ends the partnership, but someone else always comes along.

That’s just the first night. They go again when they can, when Steve can find a time between school, his job as a newspaper boy, and his mother’s work schedule.

She pulls more late shifts, and Steve is meant to stay over at Bucky’s more and more often, so it works out.

\--

It’s a week until Christmas, 1933. Steve is fifteen and owns a few used dresses of his own now. Becky grew taller, so he can’t wear her clothes anymore. She goes out with them from time to time, but mostly she lets them go alone.

His mother knows about the dresses. She doesn’t say anything; the only thing she ever does is that, if Steve leaves them in a heap somewhere, she hangs them up neatly, like she does her nice clothes.

Tonight, they are at a club not far from Steve’s place, and it’s a booze blowout. Everything’s free; with Prohibition dead, the homemade stuff has got to go. It’s as foul as ever, but Steve drinks all he can. He cuts out of dancing early as always. His body just can’t keep up; he hates it.

His hair is longer now, long enough to give it a little curl at the ends. His mother always offers to trim it if he wants, but Steve tells her he doesn’t need one. He toys with a strand as he watches Bucky dance with others. A pretty blonde girl taps Bucky’s shoulder, and the next moment, he spins her around. Steve has to turn down quite a few offers himself, from both men and women. It’s one of those bars, where gender and sex blurs, and no one cares if Steve is a boy or a girl. They dot the waterfront, and some nights, it’s all sailors and their boys, nights where Steve would get more attention if he left the dresses at home, but Steve doesn’t care.

He glances over to see that the girl is gone; now Bucky is dancing with a man, about Bucky’s height, a little broader. He’s handsome, dark skin, hair cropped short, and a smile that Bucky returns. Bucky looks good like that, hands pressed against the man’s shoulders, shifting his hips in time to the music. Steve feels a pleasant ache in chest watching, something that makes him grow warm.

It’s when Bucky kisses the man that Steve feels sick.

Suddenly, he’s had too much to drink. He wants to get up, throw up, but most of all, he wants Bucky there, with him. Not over there with that stranger.

Jealousy isn’t a good look for him, he tells himself. But suddenly he feels hot and itchy and wants to get out of these clothes and out of this club.

He interrupts the two of them with a cough. “I’m going home,” he tells Bucky, trying not to shoot a dirty glance at the man. He thinks he succeeds, and he should be given a reward just for that.

Bucky looks a little dazed as he says, “Okay.”

Steve spins around and walks out.

He’s half a block away when Bucky comes running up behind him.

“Steve. Steve!” Bucky catches his shoulder. “Hey, wait up!”

Steve shrugs him off. “Look, Bucky, I’m tired, I just want to go home.”

Bucky steps in front of him. He looks concerned and a little confused. “What’s with you, Steve? I thought you were having a good time?”

Steve is too drunk for this discussion. He feels wobbly on his feet, even though he is wearing flat shoes, and he can’t stop the flush of red that stains his cheeks in frustration. “I was until… Look, just go back, let me go.” Steve tries to push past him.

“Steve.” Bucky frowns and catches Steve’s arm again. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing!” Steve jerks away. “You can kiss who you like!”

He doesn’t mean to say it, but it comes out anyway. And then, because impulse control has never been one of Steve’s strengths, he goes on. “You can kiss whoever you like, and don’t worry about little old me, no, Bucky will find a date for me, you always do. Never mind that we’ve been each other’s dates for years now. Never mind that you never once wanted to kiss me, but you’ll kiss some guy you don’t know.” And it’s all out there now, how Steve feels, and he hates it and wants to take it back. But he can’t, so he just glares at Bucky for a long minute.

“I…” Bucky can’t find any words to say, which just makes it worse. Steve would go for a punch or a kiss, preferably the latter, but he’ll take either over Bucky just staring at him, mouth agape.

“Forget it,” he mutters and goes home.

The next day, it’s as if nothing ever happened. Bucky swings by, they go to school, bundled up against the cold. Bucky jokes around, and Steve jokes with him.

Steve’s heart still hurts, but it’s something he’ll have to get over eventually. He’d rather keep Bucky’s friendship than lose it, so he smiles and affectionately calls Bucky a jerk.

\--

Bucky talks about Jack a lot. Steve finally meets him, more than just the passing glance at the club that first night. Jack is charming as hell. Steve likes Jack, and that makes it both easier and harder.

It’s easier because to see Bucky happy is all Steve really wants. It’s harder because, if Jack had been an asshole, Steve’s jealousy could be excused for Bucky’s wellbeing.

But Jack is a gentleman, a romantic, and a dreamer. He has high hopes for the progress of the country. He values art and human perseverance. When he finds out Steve likes to draw, he spends hours talking with Steve about expression, technique, and modern art.

“You like him, right?” Bucky asks one day, out of the blue. It’s getting on toward summer, the days becoming hot. Steve can’t say no; it would be a lie. He’s not sure why Bucky seeks his approval, though, especially after the unmentioned confession Steve gave him.

“I do, he’s a really great guy.”

Bucky grins and ducks his head. He doesn’t get embarrassed easily, but when he does, he always looks away.

\--

Steve is supposed to be meeting Bucky and Jack for lunch. But a guy was harassing a woman, and Steve just lost it.

The man gains the upper hand, and Steve can only duck his head, protect himself as best he can from the punches and kicks directed at him.

He hears Bucky shout his name. “Steve!” Suddenly, the punches stop. He hears a grunt, then the sound of a body slammed against a wall.

Bucky’s arms wrap around Steve, pulling him in close. Bucky chants his name, asks him again and again if he’s alright.

Steve watches with amazement as Jack hits the man, again and again, until the man stumbles free and away.

Jack turns his eyes to Bucky and Steve, where Bucky holds Steve to his chest. Steve stays crouched on the ground, still watching Jack, and that’s when he sees Jack’s expression shift. It goes from rage to worry to sadness. Steve sees heartbreak in that look, and he doesn’t understand. That’s the look he should be giving Jack every time he sees him and Bucky together.

The three of them end up at Steve’s place, which feels quieter and emptier than it should. Steve’s mom hasn’t been home for more than a few hours at a time the last few days. It’s been rough at the hospital.

Bucky bandages up both Steve and Jack. Jack stares at his bloodied knuckles a little in shock. “Didn’t mean to do that,” he says.

“Glad you stepped in when you did,” Steve says, admitting for once that he had been having trouble. Every bit of him aches. Sleep sounds like the best idea right now.

“My pop told me to be careful,” Jack continues. “Doesn’t think I should spend as much time as I do over here. Says Harlem’s full of men like me, should just stay there.”

Steve can’t say exactly why he does it. But he goes to the bedroom, changes into one of his dresses, and comes out again. He hooks one arm through Bucky’s and another through Jack’s. “Let’s go out tonight,” he says. “It’s been awhile, and I might shrivel up if I don’t have a drink.”

They’re a sight when they do, the three of them. Steve’s got a black eye, and Jack’s hands are bandaged. Bucky’s the only one of them without a scratch, but he looks like the cat who ate the canary, stepping out with the two of them.

“I’m the luckiest guy in the world,” he says, giving first Steve, then Jack, a peck on the check.

They dance until Steve can’t anymore, and then Jack offers to carry him and still dance. Steve accepts one last twirl, and then he has to call it quits. They stumble back to Steve’s apartment, laughing and giddy. When they get there, Jack and Bucky slow dance together, humming out their own tune.

It still hurts a little, but Steve smiles at them, placing his head on his arms as he rests on the couch. He likes this, likes the atmosphere, and he can accept the limits on his and Bucky’s relationship.

Bucky collapses next to Steve, and Jack takes the seat beside him. “What a night,” Bucky says with a laugh. Jack picks up Bucky’s hand and gives it a kiss, then reaches out for Steve’s.

“You do look lovely in that, Steve,” Jack says before pressing a kiss to Steve’s hand. “Was jealous of you two the first time I saw you together like that.”

There’s a funny flop in Steve’s belly, because that’s his line. But he also flushes at the compliment. “Thank you,” he says. He likes being called pretty, and he likes the way dressing feminine makes him feel. Like he’s not going to be looked down on for being small and sick. Like he can conquer the world and not have to be someone different. Like he can be himself. Like he’s beautiful.

He thinks it might have to do with intention. Intention gives him power.

Bucky yawns, stretching his arms above his head. He lets one fall around Jack’s shoulders and one around Steve’s. “Well, I think I’m going to sleep right here tonight. Got the two best pillows in the world.”

That sets them all off again laughing, tired but happy.

\--

Jack stops coming around. Bucky stops bringing him up. It’s been two weeks since Steve last saw Jack, and he finally sits Bucky down and asks, “Are you alright?”

Bucky smirks and shrugs. “Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?”

Steve gives Bucky a stern look. “How long have we known each other? You give me the truth, or I will tell Becky you dropped her necklace in dog shit.”

Bucky keeps up the front for a moment longer, but finally, he caves. He shrugs again, this time his expression closed off. “Wasn’t working out. Mutual parting, but, hey. Still doesn’t mean I can’t miss it.”

Steve wraps his arms around Bucky and lets him softly cry into his shoulder.

The next day, Bucky insists they go out. Steve hesitates; his mother came home feeling unwell. But she assures Steve she’s fine, and he should have fun.

It’s the first time she’s home to see him put on a dress. He almost doesn’t; they only have the one bedroom that they share, and that would mean changing in front of her. But he does, and when he straightens out the skirt, he catches her smile in the mirror.

She holds out her arms, and he goes to her. “You look lovely in blue,” she says, brushing back a strand of his hair. “Bring me my make-up, I’ll do your face?”

He brings it over and settles on the bed. She takes her time; he can feel her callouses as she carefully applies the make-up, first foundation, then doing his eyes. When she paints his lips, he looks at her. She notices and smiles, the expression making the lines at her eyes and across her forehead deepen.

“I love you, Steve,” she says, placing her hands on his shoulders. “No matter what, no matter who you are or will become, I love you. And I’m so proud of you.”

Steve bites his lip, which his mother immediately scolds him for. “You’ll ruin my work,” she says, but her glare is playful, and she ends up kissing his hair. “Now go have fun.”

They go out to one of their usual places, and Bucky holds Steve close the entire time. When Steve gets too tired to dance anymore, Bucky sits with him, instead of dancing with other people. They talk late into the night, having fun, joking around. Bucky buys more drinks than he can really afford, but they down them together, until they are desperately drunk, desperately laughing, and they are all that exists in the world.

When they get back to Steve’s apartment, Bucky places his hands on either side of Steve’s face. He leans in and kisses Steve’s forehead. “Thank you,” he says.

“You know I’ll always be here for you, Buck.” Bucky smiles at that.

\--

“I want to draw you for once,” Bucky says from his spot on the couch. He’s draped over it, half-naked, as Steve sketches him for practice.

Steve doesn’t stop working. “Yeah, sure,” he says, “because you have the patience for it.”

“I’m serious.” Bucky moves. Steve doesn’t tell him to stop. He already has Bucky’s body outlined. He does still need to detail his face though, so Steve tells him to turn his head to the left. Bucky obliges.

“Steve, please?”

Steve rolls his eyes. “Fine. Don’t complain to me, though, about how hard it is to draw.”

“I want to do it today. When you’re done. In one of your dresses.”

Steve’s cheeks warm at that. He keeps his head down, finding it harder to focus on his work. “Really, Buck?”

“Yeah.”

Once Steve finishes his sketch, he washes up and changes. His mother is asleep in their bedroom, so he moves quietly, taking the dress out into the main room to change.

Bucky helps him button it up, and then Steve settles down on a stool. He flattens the skirt out a little.

“Perfect,” Bucky says, before picking up Steve’s pad of paper and a piece of charcoal.

“Be careful,” Steve says. “I don’t want you to get fingerprints over the rest of my work.”

Bucky waves him off with a casual shrug. “Yeah, I’ll be careful.”

It’s cute watching Bucky work. He sticks his tongue out as he concentrates, eyes flicking between Steve and the paper. At one point, he wipes his forehead, which leaves a streak of black across it.

At last, Bucky sits back and says, “It’s done.” He looks proud and wears a silly grin on his face.

Steve slides of the stool and walks over to Bucky to peer over his shoulder. He’s careful to keep far enough away so that he doesn’t get anything on his dress.

Bucky’s picture is not pretty. It barely looks human. Steve’s head is too big, his limbs are fat and thick, and they’re not even positioned in the right place. The skirt of the dress looks like someone scribbled all over it. It’s flat-out ugly.

“Wow,” Steve says, “that’s really bad. I think that’s one of the shittiest drawings I’ve seen.”

Bucky takes a swing at Steve, who slips away with a laugh. “I’m only telling you the truth, Buck.”

“Yeah, well, fuck you, Rogers. We can’t all be art geniuses.”

Steve settles on the couch, spreading his skirt out around him. “No, you just need a little practice, that’s all.” He looks at the picture again. “Okay, a lot of practice.”

Bucky scowls, but once he has cleaned up, Steve takes his head and puts it in his lap, stroking his hair. Bucky still hasn’t put his shirt on, and Steve glances down at Bucky’s skin, shoulders dark and freckled from working in the sun doing manual labor.

He doesn’t tell Bucky that he tears out the page and tucks it away. That would feed his ego far too much.

\--

It’s Steve’s 19th birthday, and he spends it staring at the closet. In it hangs his and his mother’s clothes. It has been three months now since she passed. Early spring, a bit cool, but otherwise beautiful weather for the funeral.

Yesterday, he decided he needs to get rid of her things. Donate them, maybe. There are people who need them more than he does. But he can’t quite bring himself to do it.

Outside, he hears people celebrating. This time last year, Bucky promised to take him to a ball game, but when he showed up in the morning, Steve refused.

“You want me to stick around?” Bucky asked.

Steve shook his head. “I need to do this on my own.”

He wishes he had let Bucky stay. It’s hard to do this, and with Bucky here, it would be better. Finally, Steve forces himself to stand up. He starts taking the dresses down one by one. His mother didn’t own many, but Steve has seen each a thousand times before. It’s surreal looking at them now, folded on the bed.

He gets so lost in the process that he ends up taking down one of his own dresses by accident. He stares at it, feels the fabric between his fingers. It’s one of the nicer dresses, cotton instead of linen. He pulls it over his clothes and puts it on. He hasn't grown much since he got it; it fits well.

He stands in front of the small mirror and spins slowly. He’s not a woman; he doesn’t want to be a woman. But wearing the dress gives him comfort.

He shoves his mother’s clothes into a bag and heads out, still wearing his dress.

Bucky looks at him in surprise when he answers the door. Normally, Steve only wears women’s clothes when they go out.

“Here,” Steve says, passing over the bag. “For Becky and Hannah, if they want any. Otherwise, you can give the rest to a shelter.”

“Steve?” Bucky says, hesitant. “You going to be okay?”

“Yeah.” As Steve says it, he knows it’s true. He’s going to be okay. “I’ll be fine, Buck.”

Bucky returns home with him. They stay up late into the night, Bucky holding Steve, and Steve knows it’s going to be alright.

\--

The attack on Pearl Harbor is unexpected and horrifying, but at last the United States joins the war. Ideally, there would be no war to fight at all, but Steve knew, even a few years ago when Hitler was just a name in some articles, that they would need to do something to help.

Steve enlists. They reject him. He’s disappointed and angry, but not surprised. He went knowing he didn’t stand a chance, despite every insistence he made that he could fight.

Bucky doesn’t like talking about the war. He tells Steve to forget about it, focus on his school work. “You’re going to be a famous artist one day, Steve, and I’m going to make sure you stick to it.”

Then, one day, a year into the war, Bucky drops in with enlistment papers. “Going to basic next week,” Bucky says. “Let’s make the most of it, yeah?”

Steve doesn’t know what to say. Part of him, a petty part, is jealous of Bucky’s able, healthy body, that Bucky can go and help save people, while Steve is stuck at home. Part of him is proud to see his best friend fight for what’s right. Another part of him, a darker part, just doesn’t want to be left alone.

Steve hasn’t worn a dress since the war started. Bucky doesn’t press him when they head out both in men’s clothes. But Bucky does flirt with the girls more, ends up asking two girls if they want to spend the rest of the night together.

“Are you headed off to war, too?” one of the girls asks.

“Wouldn’t let me in,” Steve says. The girl’s interest fades; she turns instead to another soldier.

While Bucky is gone, Steve tries another two times. He lies, pretends to be a different Steve Rogers than the one from Brooklyn. Twice more he gets rejected.

At last, Bucky comes back home with a uniform and the rank of sergeant. He doesn’t know yet when he’ll ship out.

They go out a few more times, go on a few more double dates that Bucky arranges. Bucky has taken to staying at Steve’s most nights. One night, before they fall asleep, Bucky asks, “You ever going to dress up all fancy again?”

Steve shrugs. “Don’t know. Maybe.”

“Maybe, huh? Because you did look really pretty in them.”

“I’m a man, Bucky.”

“Never said you weren’t.”

Bucky falls asleep shortly after that, and Steve doesn’t focus too much on his words.

\--

Bucky ships out. The next few months pass in a blur. Basic, the serum, the start of “Captain America,” it all leaves Steve reeling. Sometimes, Steve can’t believe he’s still in the same world. He can’t believe he’s still Steve.

He stares at his body, big all around. It’s something he wanted as a child, accepted he would never have as an adult, and now he does, and he doesn’t know what to do with it.

He sees Maude and Lizzie approach him through the mirror. They each playfully give an arm a squeeze. “Hey, big boy, if you don’t hurry up, you’ll miss your entrance,” Maude teases.

Steve grins, a little bashful to be caught staring at himself. “Sorry. I’ll be right out.”

He is not used to the attention. It’s not just from women; men look at him differently, too.

One evening, hidden away in a bar that he hopes will provide a small respite, a man slides into the seat next to him. He looks Steve up and down in an obvious manner.

Steve considers it, but he ends up not going home with him. It isn’t that it’s the first offer he ever received. It’s the first offer her ever received while in regular men’s clothes. People used to ask him when he wore a dress; now they ask Captain America. Steve, big and awkward, is in new territory, and he’s not sure if he likes it.

He catches himself staring that the women’s dance outfits. They’re short and sexy; that’s the whole point of them. Before the serum made him big, he could wear one. He couldn’t fill it out in the chest, and he doesn’t want to, but he could have worn it. Now, he’s just too big.

Maude notices him looking. She gets the wrong idea at first, asks him if there’s a girl he wants to ask out, because she could let him know if that girl would be interested. Steve assures her that’s not it. Maude lets the matter rest, for a little while.

They finish their show in Milwaukee when she brings it up again. “If you keep staring, someone’s going to ask questions.”

“I’m sorry,” Steve says. “I don’t mean- it’s not what you think.”

Maude nods slowly, considering. “Not what I think, huh?” She closes the dressing room door and takes a seat across from Steve. She’s still in her costume, and he’s half out of his. It’s one of the few times he’s gotten his own dressing room; usually both he and Clive, who plays Hitler, change with the women.

“I hear you weren’t always big and buff,” she says.

Steve doesn’t meet her eyes. “I was a bit smaller, yeah.”

“Ever play dress-up?”

Steve takes a moment, deciding what he wants to say. He finally picks the full truth. He meets her eyes as he says, “It stopped being dress up a long time ago.”

Maude nods again. “Do you want to be a girl or do you just like doing it?”

“I just like doing it.”

Again, she nods, and Steve wishes she would do anything else.

“Lizzie sometimes wears more than just pants,” Maude finally says. “Presses down her breasts, slicks her hair back, proper suit jacket and all. We go out like that, pretend we’re a regular couple.”

That surprises Steve. He hadn’t known they were stepping out at all.

“All very Marlene, you know?”

Steve does. After that, it’s easier to stop looking. Maude and Lizzie start spending more time with him. They become good friends. They’re funny and tease Steve endlessly, but he gives as good as he gets. Before he knows it, fall is almost over, and the show heads overseas.

It’s miserable on the front line. Cold, wet, and an unresponsive group of men. Steve sees what they see; a man dressed up in a silly costume, a man who couldn’t be bothered to fight with them when that was his place. Because now he’s as able bodied as the rest of them, and he’s just a propaganda piece.

He escapes the stage with little dignity.

When he hears Bucky is gone, though, none of that matters.

\--

There are two surprises back at camp. The first, once Steve has rested, eaten, and seen that Bucky is okay after the medics had a look at him, is a small wrapped package.

“A couple of your former costars left this for you,” Peggy says, handing him the package. “They said to give it to you directly, and no one else was to see it.”

He opens it right there in front of Peggy, which may or may not be a mistake. He pulls out one of the USO girl’s uniforms. The thing is, it’s not small like it should be. It’s big. It’s big enough to fit Steve. There’s a hastily scrawled note that reads, “We had it made special. Best of luck and with love, Maude and Lizzie.”

Peggy raises an eyebrow, but she doesn’t say anything. “Uh.” Steve tries to find the right words. “It’s a gift, a thing we talked about once, it’s not-”

“You know that you will be expected to wear that on stage and perform during one of the drag shows, right, Rogers?” There’s a playful glint in her eye, and Steve knows it’s okay.

There’s something about Peggy that makes his breath come quick, that makes the blood rush south, and he wants with a yearning he hasn’t felt in a long time, a yearning he’s only felt for Bucky before.

He’s torn and confused, because both Peggy and Bucky are here, and he’s with them every day. His chance with Bucky has long since gone, but it doesn’t stop him from loving him. He doesn’t love Peggy any less. Maybe that’s something he can try, if she can accept the part of him that still wants to dress up in skirts and blouses, even if he doesn’t look like a girl anymore.

The second surprise is Jack Fury. He was one of the men left behind, one of the ones who evaded HYDRA’s capture. He stares in awe at Steve, who is a good head taller than him now.

“You really grew up, didn’t you?” Jack says.

“It’s good to see you.” Steve pulls him into a hug and holds him tight. “How have you been?”

“Getting by.” Jack grins, that same, warm, charming smile. Any jealousy Steve felt as a teenager is long gone. He’s just glad to see another friendly and familiar face in the midst of this nightmare called war. “When I get home, I’m getting married. To a woman. Can you believe that?”

“You love her?”

“With all my heart.” Steve knows Jack. Steve knows it’s true.

“I’m happy for you.”

They catch up, and Jack is desperate for stories from back home. He laughs at Steve’s tour antics and frustrations, and asks after the old neighborhoods, if the nightlife is still the same.

“Half a year feels like forever,” Jack says with a shake of his head. “I’m ready to go home.”

When Steve mentions he only went out a few times after Bucky enlisted, Jack looks surprised. “He was drafted,” Jack says. “He didn’t want to go. Didn’t he tell you?”

It makes sense now that he hears it. But Steve feels like his heart stops just for a moment. There’s a difference between choosing to lay down your life for others and being forced to it. And Bucky lied to Steve about it.

In the end, he decides not to bring it up with Bucky. It’s not important anymore; they are both here, and Bucky already promised to follow Steve. Steve doesn’t want to bring in any unnecessary tension. Bucky lied to him because he thought it was right, because he thought it was what Steve wanted to hear. Steve won’t punish him for that, not now, not when Bucky almost lost his life.

What does come up is Peggy. It’s after a mission; they’re in a truck headed back to camp. Morita falls asleep against Dum-Dum’s shoulder, who in turn drools a little on Falsworth’s. Gabe and Dernier are whispering to each other in French. Steve still only knows a little, although he’s learning, but it’s enough to understand the intimacies between the two. Steve envies them.

“So,” Bucky says, quiet and tired, “you and Peggy? There anything there?”

“Maybe,” Steve says. “Maybe not. I’d… like there to be.”

He doesn’t say, “You had your chance.” He doesn’t say, “If you said so, I’d choose you.” He doesn’t say, “I’ll always love you, Buck, no matter how you feel about me.”

He wants to, because it’s all true, as conflicting as some of it is. But he doesn’t.

“She okay with that… the clothes thing?”

Steve shrugs. “I think so? She mentioned something about a drag show…”

The look Bucky gives him is just a little bit sinister, and Steve knows he’s in for it.

\--

The show is a blast. It takes a while for Steve to muster up the courage, but finally, he dons his USO outfit and takes to the stage. The men whistle and hoot, and Steve can dance in a way he couldn’t before. He’s not elegant or graceful, but he has the stamina.

He politely rejects the young, nervous soldier who approaches him the next day. “You’ll find someone,” he tells him. “But that’s not me.”

Peggy drops by to let him know she appreciated the show. “Quite flashy, though,” she says, fingering the skirt. It’s spread out over a box; Steve was about to put it away. “Something good for activities a little more… intimate, shall we say?”

Steve flushes, because that was the first thing that came to mind when he received it. He wonders if that’s an offer. He hopes it’s an offer. But Peggy leaves before he can ask.

Steve isn’t unfamiliar with sex, he just hasn’t had it before. When he was younger, he snuck into a number of blue films with Bucky; there was all kinds of sexual activities marketed just streets from where he lived. But he lacks all finesse and experience in having any himself, other than his own hand and a dirty magazine.

He really hopes it is an offer.

\--

Steve never finds out. Life becomes a constant string of attack after attack on HYDRA bases. They keep Johann Schmidt on the defensive, which drains their time, energy, and resources. But it’s worth it, because Schmidt is dangerous.

Jack gets injured in an attack and sent home. “It’s better this way,” he tells Steve and Bucky. “I can be with my girl. We can get married early.”

They wish him the best of luck.

Bucky becomes quiet after that. He takes to spending time alone, thinking. One day, Steve finds him sitting at the base of a tree. He drops down next to Bucky and gently bumps his shoulder.

“What are you thinking about?” he asks.

“A lot of things,” Bucky says slowly. “About Jack. The war.” He looks down and picks at the dead grass. It will likely snow soon and cover it all up. “You and me.”

The air grows heavier. Steve’s not sure what to say. He waits; this is Bucky’s show.

“I wonder sometimes,” Bucky says casually, as if what he is saying doesn’t actually matter, “what I could have done differently.”

“Such as?”

“Well…” Bucky shrugs with a derisive laugh. “I could have been less of a coward.”

“You never were a coward.”

“I was.” Bucky turns to him and holds Steve’s gaze. There’s something there, something familiar that Steve has seen so often before, but neither he nor Bucky ever brought it up. “Jack broke it off with me because he knew. He wanted me to go for it. But I couldn’t. Because I didn’t know what you wanted.”

Steve finds it hard to swallow. His mouth is dry, and he can’t break away from Bucky’s gaze. “I think I was pretty clear with what I wanted.”

Bucky shakes his head slowly. “No, you weren’t. I didn’t know if you wanted me to see you as a boy or a girl. And if I saw you the wrong way, I wasn’t sure what you would do.”

“Why didn’t you ask?”

Steve knows why before Bucky answers. He already said it. “Because I was scared. I was scared of things changing. Of things not changing. I was scared you’d stop. I was scared you wouldn’t stop ever. I didn’t know what I wanted, and I was scared.”

“How do you see me? Prefer me? A boy or a girl?”

He needs to know; and if he doesn’t ask now, Bucky will never bring it up again. He knows Bucky, persistent on all the wrong topics, recalcitrant on the the rest.

“Both? Neither? A boy in pretty clothes, which in a way made you my girl if I wanted. My beautiful, beautiful Steve.”

Steve swallows thickly. “Dresses don’t fit me right anymore. It’s comical now.”

But Bucky shakes his head again and brings a hand up to Steve’s face. “Never comical. You’re as beautiful now as you were then.”

Steve meets Bucky the rest of the way. His heart bursts with love and want, and every desire that has built up for years comes pouring out. “Love you, Bucky,” he gasps against Bucky’s mouth.

Bucky deepens the kiss, delves into Steve’s mouth, hand tight around his neck.

Steve only has the USO outfit, but he wants to wear it. He changes into it. It’s risky, but the tent is one reserved for conferences and unlikely to be used at this time of day. Neither Steve nor Bucky really care, though.

For a long time, Bucky just looks at Steve. “Never told you I always loved watching you get dressed,” Bucky says. “You should let me do that more often.”

“You should help more often,” Steve says with a snort. “Some of those were really hard to clasp by myself.”

Bucky runs his hands at the edges of the fabric, over where Steve’s shoulders are exposed, down his chest, along his ass. He pets the skirt, lets it slide between his fingers. He does this for a long time. He fingers the lapel, and he takes the time to examine each sequin.

“Bucky,” Steve groans, because he has waited years for this. He’s impatient, he’s growing hard, and he knows he’s making a mess of the panty lining of the bodice.

Bucky brings him in for a kiss, and then they’re both gone.

Bucky touches him, but leaves the costume on. He kisses down Steve’s neck and chest, only pushing away the costume enough to suck at Steve’s nipples.

Steve shivers under Bucky’s touch. It’s better than he imagined. He has goosebumps, but he can’t tell if it’s from the cold or the anticipation.

Bucky backs up until his legs hit a box, and then he sits down, bringing Steve down with him. Steve rides his leg like that for a long time as Bucky kisses his way down his body.

“So pretty,” Bucky murmurs against his skin. “Beautiful, Steve.”

“Bucky-” Steve bites off a moan as Bucky palms his erection. He’ll come soon just from this if Bucky doesn't hurry up or slow down or do anything to hold Steve off for a little while longer. “I can’t,” he gasps out.

“Yes, you can,” Bucky says. He sounds confident. “I know you, Steve.”

So Steve holds off. He bites the inside of his lip, and the pain helps. Bucky strokes him slowly, taking his time.

“I want to savor this,” Bucky says. They do just that.

His panties soaked, his nipples nibbled into stiff, aching points, Steve breaks away from Bucky. “Let me touch you,” he says, and Bucky agrees with a dark nod.

Steve opens up his shirt to kiss down Bucky’s torso. He doesn’t spend as long on Bucky’s nipples as Bucky did on his, but he licks them and rolls them gently between his teeth, which has Bucky shuddering.

Around his naval, Steve flicks his tongue in. He glances up at Bucky to see if that’s alright. Bucky nods. Steve does it again and again, until Bucky is practically vibrating.

“Steve-!” It comes out strangled and harsh. Steve feels a deep satisfaction at that.

At last, he undoes Bucky’s pants and doesn’t hesitate in drawing the head of Bucky’s cock into his mouth. Steve doesn’t know exactly what he’s doing, but he keeps his teeth away from Bucky and works a hand around what he can’t take in, the other reaching into his pants to play with Bucky’s sac.

Bucky’s moans almost seem to come through his cock. Steve does the best he can, encouraged when Bucky’s hands fist in his hair. Bucky doesn’t do anything but hold on, allowing Steve to bob up and down as he pleases.

Just when Steve starts to wonder how long he can keep this up, there’s a gentle tug. “Steve,” Bucky says in a harsh breath. “Just. Wait. I want you. I want you.”

Steve obliges. He raises himself up and straddles Bucky. Bucky pulls out a small jar of lubricant, meant for burns or maybe rashes, and pushes aside Steve’s panties. He takes his time just stroking Steve before pushing in.

Steve gasps at the sensation, foreign, strange, but not unwelcome. He follows Bucky’s lead; he’s sure Bucky has done this before. He’s not naive. He pictures for a brief moment Bucky and Jack like this, and there’s a flare of heat in his belly, both jealousy and lust. He grinds down on Bucky’s finger and pants out, “Faster, Buck. Please.”

Bucky doesn’t rush, but there’s an urgency there that wasn’t before. Soon, he slips his fingers out and then looks at Steve for a long moment. “You good?” he says.

“Hell, yes,” Steve says, before kissing Bucky long and hard.

Bucky slips into him, slow and stuttering. Steve breathes through his nose, surprised by how solid and big Bucky feels in him. Finally Bucky’s in as far as he can in this position. Steve takes a few moments to settle. His thighs are beginning to ache a little from holding himself up, but it’s better and easier than it would have been without his recent strength boost.

Then Bucky moves, fucks up into Steve. The outside world disappears for him, the cold, the relatively open location. It’s just him and Bucky, and he rides Bucky hard.

He loses track of the time. All he cares about is touching Bucky, touching his face, kissing him, telling him how much he loves Bucky and always will. Bucky pants back similar words, about how beautiful Steve is, how strong, how much Bucky wants him and loves him.

Bucky keeps on hand behind Steve’s back to support him and reaches the other to jerk him off. Steve comes with a bit-off moan, all over Bucky’s hand. He musters up the strength to keep riding Bucky, even though each time Bucky hits that spot in him, it leaves Steve gasping for breath.

Bucky comes, and Steve collapses on top of him, Bucky still inside.

When at last they look at themselves, Steve laughs. “Made a mess of this, didn’t we? And no way to clean it out here.”

“Don’t worry,” Bucky says, fisting a bit of the skirt. “I’ll make sure it gets cleaned.”

The next day, Steve finds it folded neatly in his bedroll. It is clean, much cleaner than yesterday, but there are still signs that it was cleaned with limited resources. Steve feels a warmth spread through him.

He can’t quite believe that yesterday was real. But it was, and he proves it to himself by stealing Bucky away to hug him close and whisper, “I love you,” in his ear.

“Love you, too,” Bucky says back before leaning up to kiss Steve.

\--

It turns out that nothing good can last. Steve should have known, with his luck.

Three weeks after Steve and Bucky finally admit their feelings, they chase Zola down on a train.

It’s like a film played at half speed that Steve can’t stop watching. Everytime he closes his eyes, he sees Bucky. Bucky’s hand reaching out toward Steve, just inches away. Bucky’s mouth open as he slips. Bucky’s eyes as he falls straight down into the iced over valley.

Steve can’t chase the nightmare away.

Peggy’s touch on his arm is gentle. “It wasn’t your fault,” she says.

He knows, intellectually, that it’s true. Bucky made his choices. Steve made his. There was no way Steve could have stopped it. No way he could have reached a little farther without falling himself. No way to have saved Bucky.

It still hurts. It burns, like a hole in chest. Steve has no family anymore. It was just Bucky for him, and now he’s gone.

“We slept together,” Steve says suddenly. He feels the need to tell Peggy, to make her know everything. “Had sex. Just a few weeks ago.”

“I know.”

Steve stares at her, mouth falling open. Maybe the alcohol is affecting him, because he can’t quite believe or process what she just said.

Peggy’s smile is sad and kind. “Barnes told me. He said, in fact, that he was hopelessly in love with you, always would be, but that if you and I still wanted to see each other, he would have no problem with that. So long as I didn’t try to take you from him.” She shifts her focus down at the table. “Smart man, he was.”

Steve snorts. “You wouldn’t say that if you knew half of the stuff we got up to.”

“Tell me?”

So Steve does. It mostly involves Steve getting himself into scrapes and Bucky pulling them both out, which really only proves Peggy’s point. But that doesn’t matter. It’s a vigil for Bucky that the two share.

It doesn’t make the pain go away. But it helps Steve to hold on just a little longer.

Peggy helps him into bed, not because he’s drunk - he can’t get drunk anymore - but because he’s not sure he wouldn’t otherwise break down crying before he got there.

As Peggy squeezes his hand, Steve hangs on for a moment longer. “What Bucky said-” he begins, then pauses, unsure how to say this. “Not now. But when… When it’s less raw, I’d like to kiss you.”

Peggy smiles, small, quiet, and full of love and grief. “Sleep, Captain.”

In the morning, Steve feels a hollowness inside. But he covers it up with determination. He will make Schmidt pay. And he does.

Peggy’s kiss comes sooner than expected, but they both know it’s their last chance.

In the end, Schmidt falls to his own weapons made of his own hubris.

In the end, Steve accepts his death with what dignity he can muster. That ends up being little more than a cut off joking apology.

It’s the best way he could have asked for.


	2. After the Ice

_”You’ve been asleep, Cap. For almost 70 years.”_

Those words ring in Steve’s ears for a long time. Nick Fury - Jack Fury’s son - an old man himself now, puts him up in an apartment with too much time to think.

It’s almost a relief when Loki and the Chitauri come, if only for the fact that Steve can escape his own thoughts for a little while. Almost, but not quite, because the destruction they bring isn’t worth anything.

When the battle is over, Steve has to do something. So he wanders. He revisits the cities he saw, explores ones he never went to before. It’s all different, both the landscapes and the people. There’s a sense of loss and also a sense of wonder, and Steve can’t quite figure it all out. There’s no single good or bad thing he can point to and say that makes him think one period is better than the other. It’s jumbled up, confused, and mostly just different.

He sees what medicine can do for people these days, people like him when he was young, and he is awed. He sees people rally for more guns after school shootings, a slap in the face of those still grieving for their lost loved ones. He sees people argue for the better treatment of others, but turn away someone else in need due to race or religion or sexual and gender identity. He sees people struggling to make ends meet even working two jobs. He sees people bring joy to the others with a kind word, a small gift, or friendly gesture.

He eats food he couldn’t have imagined, some things delightful, others less so, but always something new. He finds stores that cater specifically to him, the masculine seeking the feminine, and he spends more time there than he does in any other shop.

He’s embarrassed by how much he buys; the bill makes him swallow hard. It’s largely inflation over the course of decades that marks the astronomical price, but he can’t help the sick feeling in his stomach, not after years of counting pennies for months and saving to buy a good second hand dress, an extravagance at five dollars.

He finds the second hand shops, and those are better. He balks less, though he has to search more. He ends up with most of a new wardrobe, which he ships back to his little SHIELD-issue apartment.

When at last he returns to what more or less amounts to his home, he knows he can’t just sit around as before. He needs to do something.

Fury gives him work and a relocation to DC. Steve doesn’t mind the move.

For a long time, Steve doesn’t visit Peggy. He’s not sure what he would say, so he concentrates on SHIELD missions.

He likes Natasha. She cracks jokes he sometimes doesn’t get, mostly rides him for either being or not being what popular culture has made him. But it’s affectionate. He respects her, and she respects him, and if she’s perhaps a little too invested in his personal life, it’s a sign that she cares.

He shares himself with her first. She comes over one day after a mission, accepting his offer of a drink.

He left one of the dresses hanging up in the living room. He doesn’t try to hide it or put it away. He leaves it out. Natasha eyes it briefly before taking a swig of beer.

“You know, Steve,” she said, “if you ever want to go out, I know one or two who would be happy to escort you.” She gestures to the dress. “You’d look good in that.”

Steve shrugs. “I’m not in the mood these days.”

“Always some excuse, Rogers. You might be old, but you’re not dead. Live a little.”

Steve shrugs again. “Hey, I invited you over, didn’t I? Isn’t that living?”

“Work friends don’t count,” she says, but he can tell she’s pleased to be part of his slowly growing social life.

He finally musters up the courage to see Peggy. Her face is lined, hair thin and grey, skin waxy. She doesn’t look well. She cries when she sees him, and he cries, too. Then she forgets him and the process starts again. He learns to deal with it; it’s something he can manage. It’s worth it to be able to sit and talk with her in a way he can’t do with anyone else.

“Do you still wear the dresses?” she asks with a glint in her eye. “I never got to see you in one. Well, not a proper dress. That skimpy get-up doesn’t count.”

Steve holds her hand as he says, “I haven’t found the right occasion.”

She scoffs at that. “What occasion? Do what you’d like, Steve. You’ve more than earned it.”

He misses Peggy so much; he ends up going often, and while it helps his loneliness, it isn’t enough.

He throws himself more into his work after that. SHIELD is Peggy’s legacy. He’ll do what he can for her through it.

It’s not a perfect life, but it’s something. As he tells Natasha, it’s a start.

\--

Fury stops him one afternoon. “It took some time,” Fury says, “but we dug out your old things from storage. Can’t guarantee the quality of any of it, and there’s not much. A lot of it was sold off or donated. A real pity to the greatest Cap fans that it wasn’t all preserved. Sent everything over to your place.”

“Thanks.” Steve hesitates, which Fury catches.

“Anything else, Captain?”

Steve knows it’s invasive, but he has to ask. “I knew Jack. Your father.” If Fury is surprised by this, he doesn’t show it. “I just… wanted to know how his last years were.”

Fury says, flatly, “Not great. Real sick. But if it’s any consolation, he never had anything but high praise for you until his dying day.”

It’s not what Steve wants to hear. He doesn’t care what Jack thought of him. But Fury thinks that’s what he’s after, so he lets it rest.

“Not much” turns out to be only two boxes. In one, Steve finds a couple of his old sketchpads. The pages that haven’t molded away into nothing are yellow and brittle. He had more sketchpads, but they must have been tossed in the purge of his things. To his surprise, he finds Bucky’s sketch. It’s mostly in one piece, though a corner, where it stuck out from where it was wedged between two boxes of trinkets, has been eaten away.

He just sits and looks at it for a long time. It’s a truly awful drawing, but it fills Steve with hope. It survived all these years. It’s not much, but it gives him something to hang on to, a grounding point in this crazy world he lives in.

He continues sorting through the boxes. There are some old clothes, and the the trinket boxes have a few pieces of his mother’s jewelry left.

The second box is smaller. It contains what he left behind when he went down with the Valkyrie. He pages through his notebook, which is in surprisingly good condition. The last entry is a sketch of Gabe and Dernier, who had fallen asleep against one another. There are a number of other sketches of his men. There’s even one of Colonel Philips, looking surly as ever.

He stares at one of Peggy for a long time. It’s right next to one of Bucky, and this one he can barely look at. It hurts too much. He puts aside the notebook.

There are some more clothes and a framed photo of his mother. The smell of mold rises up as he takes out the clothes. They’re disintegrating at the bottom, although the top layer is relatively intact.

That’s where he finds it, though, at the very bottom. The smell is overwhelming, but when he sees the blue, he has to pull it out. The USO girl costume is destroyed. Eaten away into a patchy mess, the skirt is now just varying shades of pink. The bodice still has some sequins intact, but most fall off as soon as Steve moves it.

He realizes, with a guilty pang, that he has no clue what happened to Maude, Lizzie, Clive, or any of the others. He supposes most of them are dead by now, or soon will be.

He puts the costume in a black garbage bag and seals it up. The rest of the moldy things he throws away, salvaging what he can.

He eventually throws away that garbage bag as well, but it takes him a few months.

\--

Captain America is an iconic name, more than just a man selling war bonds or fighting in the war. He has become a folk tale, a national hero. His name is plastered across movies and songs, across shirts and bags. Any semblance to what he once stood for seems to have vanished in a red, white, and blue blaze.

After the New York invasion, it only becomes worse. He gets recognized at least once every time he goes out. Someone approaches him, cheeks red, pen in hand, asks for an autograph. He obliges, but he doesn’t feel he deserves any of it. He takes time to watch the documentaries, the fictional films, listen to the music, see the art. Captain America has been built into a mythos that Steve doesn’t feel and doesn’t fully understand.

It’s one of the reasons he doesn’t go out much. It’s one of the reasons he never wears any of the feminine clothes he bought outside of his apartment.

He’ll put them on, model in front of the mirror. It’s different than when he was small. He would never pass for a woman these days, not as a female bodybuilder nor as one of the muscled, statuesque women he passes by and admires. It’s not so much his body that gives him away (there are enough different types of women that Steve wouldn’t be the odd one out), but he can’t change his face. His face marks him as Captain America, and that is something he has to live with.

Steve puts it all away again. Another time, he tells himself. But the process just repeats.

These days, he’s not sure why it matters to him at all. Once upon a time, ages ago, it was just a way to look older. Then it became freeing, something he could do, something he could be without changing who he was, without trying to adopt a masculinity that didn’t fit him.

Now, there’s no question of his masculinity, but Steve doesn’t want to give up the femininity. He’s not sure why.

\--

Steve dreams of Bucky. He has nightmares, wakes up shaking with the last image of Bucky falling burnt into his mind.

He wakes up from good dreams, dreams that leave Steve hard and aching. He jerks off, quick and furtive, then feels guilty.

He wakes from mundane dreams, where Bucky slings an arm around Steve, small again and dressed in a light blue dress, to escort him home.

\--

Between Natasha and Peggy, Steve is convinced to take a step forward in his personal relationships. It has been a couple years now in the modern world. He would ask Natasha on a date, but she’s never shown any interest, so he leaves his attraction at admiration.

There’s a man he’s seen a few times while on a run, so one day, he decides to joke around with him.

Steve shows off. He runs past with a shout. He does again. And then again. By the fifth time, the man throws up his hands and walks to cool down before settling against a tree.

His name is Sam Wilson. Steve likes the way it falls from his tongue.

Sam gets him in an instant, and that intrigues Steve. He can’t keep away. He visits him at the VA. When Sam asks what makes him happy, Steve almost says, “A nice dress, a nice evening out, a dance with the right partner.” He almost says, “Art. Sketching the line of Bucky’s face.” He says neither.

“It’s fine to do what you love, Steve. You’re a person, too. Don’t let yourself get lost in the flag.”

Sam’s words mean a lot to him. It’s one of the reasons, beaten, bloody, and on their own, he and Natasha go to Sam.

\--

Steve’s world is upside down. He’s forgotten how to breathe, he can’t see straight, all he can think is that Bucky is alive. Bucky is alive, and it’s both wonderful and horrible. It’s a nightmare. It’s Steve’s fault. But Bucky is alive.

He reassures Sam, Natasha, Fury, and Maria that he won’t do anything stupid. None of them believe him, and he wonders just when he became so transparent to everyone. Maybe it’s just to those who matter.

Sam catches his hand before they head out. “You gonna be okay?”

Steve speaks with full honesty this time. “No. Not until I have Bucky back.”

\--

Steve is going after Bucky. He can’t express how glad he is that Sam is with him. He wishes Natasha would stay, too, but she declines. “If this thing is going to have a face, might as well be me,” she says. “You could do with a break.”

She appears in a few more press conferences and inquiries, enough for Steve and Sam to get out of DC and onto the road, and then she vanishes from the media light.

They follow whatever rumors crop up. They stay in little hotels, dead on their feet at the end of the day, and Steve collapses, letting sleep overwhelm him.

It’s laundry day when Sam sees the dress. It’s the only one Steve packed, and he quickly realized it was a waste of space. He picked it without thinking much, but now he has it, folded at the bottom of his suitcase.

Steve accidentally takes it out. It’s clean, but he shoves it into the washer anyway. He knows Sam is looking at him. He ignores it.

“Blue suits you,” Sam says. “I’d like to see you in it.”

Steve says, “That’s assuming something, isn’t it?”

“Not assuming anything. Up to you.” Steve meets Sam’s eye as Sam folds his socks. There’s a definite suggestion there. Sam does want to see him in the dress, if Steve is willing.

Steve’s breath hitches, and he forces his gaze away.

That night, when they stop in a motel, Steve pulls out the dress. He holds it for a moment, letting his fingers run across the fabric.It’s blue, like many of his dresses are, because everyone tells him the color suits him. It comes with a wide black belt that sits high on him, just under his bust. Fine white designs dance down the sides, which cling to his body, ending in a loose skirt around his knees.

As he looks at it, he finds the desire to wear it growing stronger. He glances back at Sam, who throws himself on the bed with a sigh, tired.

“I need help with this,” Steve says before pulling off his t-shirt.

Steve doesn’t have underwear appropriate for the dress, so he leaves on his briefs and pulls the dress over his head. Sam is only a foot away, and Steve turns to let him do up the back.

Sam’s fingers are hot against Steve’s skin. He sucks in a small breath, not because he needs to to make the dress fit, but because he wants to turn around and kiss Sam, half-dressed as he is.

He’s not entirely sure what Sam would think of that.

Sam finishes zipping up the dress. “There.” He rests his hands briefly on Steve’s shoulders before Steve turns around.

Once upon a time, it would have been Steve looking up at Sam. Now he smiles down at Sam, just a little shy. “So, handsome, what do you think?”

Sam takes a step back and really looks. He doesn’t just say whatever Steve wants to hear, he really looks. The smile that grows as he does says it all.

“Gorgeous,” Sam says. “Absolutely stunning.”

Steve spins for Sam, then cocks out a hip. “So are we going to dance, or just stand here talking all night?”

Sam raises an eyebrow. “I’d love to dance.”

Steve nods, smirks, and goes to turn on the radio. He finds a station that’s playing a type of jazz he’s unfamiliar with, but he’ll take it. He holds out his arms, and Sam, ever the gentleman, gives a little bow before bringing Steve in close.

They dance together, awkward and clumsy because they each come from different backgrounds. They grew up with different styles, different popular ways to move. Steve is swing, Sam is bump and grind, and they end up just holding on to one another, swaying to the music.

Steve enjoys the moment. He doesn't get tired after just a few songs anymore. He can dance for hours if he wants. He feels guilty that a small part of him wishes it was Bucky he was dancing with instead. But there’s another part in him, a part that has his gaze lingering a little too long on Sam's fingers, on Sam's smile, on Sam's legs. This part of him wants Sam like this always, in his arms, close, intimate.

They dance until classical replaces the jazz. Steve can’t name who, but Sam listens like he could pick out the exact piece it is.

“Thank you,” Steve says, about to step away, but Sam keeps his grip on him.

For a wild moment, Steve thinks Sam is going to kiss him. He wants him to. Their heads lean in a little, just inches apart.

“Can I ask you a personal question?” Sam asks.

“Sure.” Steve still feels light and floaty. He’s glad Sam hasn’t let go yet.

“Are you genderqueer?”

One thing Steve likes about Sam is that he never assumes about what Steve may or may not know. If Steve asks, he’s more than happy to explain or provide reference. If Steve doesn’t, Sam keeps going on.

It’s something Steve wishes Natasha would do. For being such an excellent spy and keeping secrets all the time, she tends to overshare on the mundane.

But Sam reads off of Steve. Steve likes that.

He takes a moment to respond. “Not enough to use the term?” he says at last. “Masculine pronouns, but I wouldn’t take objection if someone took me for a woman.”

Sam nods slowly. “Okay, Steve,” he says, his smile returning. “Works for me.”

\--

After that, a tension Steve hadn’t realized was there breaks. He catches Sam snoring as they drive to another town. They end up joking around more. Steve threatens to leave without Sam one day, when Sam has Wrong Opinions About Baseball (“Not worth it.”), and gets as far as half a mile away before he waits for Sam to catch up.

“Fuck you,” Sam says as he slides into the seat, trying to catch his breath.

“I could have just kept going,” Steve says with a smirk. Sam play punches the air by Steve’s head.

One night, in Dallas for a couple days following up a rumor, Sam challenges Steve to a drinking contest.

“You sure you wanna do that?” Steve says.

“Hell, yeah,” Sam says. “I’ll show you what’s what.”

Steve shrugs and orders several shots and a few more rounds of beer.

The other members of the bar cheer them on. They whistle and clap as Steve matches Sam shot for shot, pint for pint. Throughout, Sam’s expression goes from cocky to strained and unfocused. He reaches out, but can’t find his beer.

Someone tries to push another shot into his face, but Sam shakes his head. “Can’t,” he mutters, trying to push it away. “Done.”

So Steve takes it instead, along with his matching one, downs both, and then finishes the last of both his and Sam’s beer. The crowd erupts, water appears for both of them, and Steve receives quite a few drunken slaps on the back.

When Steve gets Sam back to their room, he sits him down and forces him to eat pretzels and drink glass after glass of water.

Sam groans. “Just let me die right now.”

“No can do. You said you were going to come with you, you come with me until the end.”

He doesn’t mean it how it comes out. He wouldn’t stop Sam from leaving. But Sam doesn’t notice and just buries his head in his pillow.

A moment later, he bolts for the bathroom, and Steve spends the rest of the night keeping watch while Sam dozes on the cool bathroom floor.

“I can’t get drunk,” Steve admits the next evening when Sam feels human again.

“You’re shitting me.”

Steve just says, “You never asked.”

“Who the hell thinks to ask that?”

“Natasha did.”

“Fuck you, Rogers.” Sam shakes his head and returns to the bathroom to brush his teeth.

There’s a flare of familiar heat in Steve, and he lays back on the bed with a groan.

\--

Bucky isn’t in Dallas. And though Steve is disappointed, he believes they are getting closer.

It’s Colorado Springs of all places that they find him. Sam is buying them some hot dogs, and Steve just glances around out of habit, notes the escape routes, notes how many people are around. Then, he sees Bucky, across the street, baseball cap pulled low and wearing a sweatshirt in the summer day heat.

“Bucky.”

He sees Steve, too, it’s clear. The way Bucky tenses, almost flees. But for whatever reason, whatever place he is in now, he waits. Steve almost runs across the street. It’s only the fear of spooking Bucky that holds him back.

But Bucky stays where he is, glued to the ground, watching Steve approach. Steve stops just short, in arms reach.

“I’ve been looking for you,” he says. “Come home with me, Buck. Please.”

Bucky glances around him. He has a haunted look in his eye that’s unfamiliar to Steve. It breaks his heart. After a long moment, Bucky nods. “Okay.” The word is harsh, rough, like Bucky hasn’t spoken in a long time.

Steve steps forward and envelops Bucky in a long hug. He doesn’t want to ever let go.

\--

The next year passes by slowly. It’s hard and painful, a series of moments of give and take, of better and worse.

Sam doesn’t work with Bucky. “I have a personal investment. Conflict of interest,” Sam says. He doesn’t need to explain further.

Sharon drops by unexpectedly with a recommendation of someone who lives in western New York state. She explains she received a tip from Fury. Steve is both a little touched and a little wary that Fury still keeps tabs on them. They pack up their things and move.

Some days are better than others. Some days, Bucky will shoot rubber bands at Steve as he sleeps and snort laughter as Steve falls off his bed or the couch. Other days, Bucky will retreat within himself. Some days, he takes Steve’s hand, pulls him away, asks him questions.

“I remember dancing,” Bucky says one such day. “But that was when you were small, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Steve says. His chest tightens. He waits.

“You wore dresses.”

“Yeah.”

Bucky looks down at his hands, spreads out his fingers to look at both the flesh and metal ones. “I drew you in one once, right? That wasn’t just a dream?”

“Yeah, you did, Buck.”

Bucky glares at him suddenly. “You hated it.”

Steve can’t stop his grin. “I never said hate.”

\--

One day, out of the blue, Natasha shows up on their doorstep. She has circles under her eyes, her hair is a mess, and she walks with a slight limp. “Able to let me crash for awhile?” she says with a twist of her lips that doesn’t reach her eyes.

“Jesus, what happened to you?” Sam asks as he gives her coffee.

“Went deep under,” she says. “You’re looking at an officially dead woman now.”

The room goes silent as Sam and Steve just stare at her. Natasha sips at her coffee, not bothered in the slightest.

Steve doesn’t realize Bucky is there until he says, “I can understand that.”

Natasha and Bucky look at each other for a long time, just gauging the other. At last, Natasha says, “You found him.” There’s a tone in her voice that hints at relief. It surprises Steve, but Natasha usually strives for that effect anyway.

After that, Natasha just never leaves. There’s not strictly enough space for her, not yet, but she finds room. The others accommodate her. At some point, she stops using the pull-out bed from the couch. Steve doesn’t notice at first. He thinks she just gets up ridiculously early. But Natasha, to his surprise, likes sleeping in. He finally realizes, probably a couple weeks after she starts doing it, that she’s sharing Sam’s bed.

Steve likes Natasha a lot. He’s thought of her kiss more than he should. It made him hot and half-hard, completely inappropriate for the situation, but Steve has never really got his sexual timing down. After all, he slept with Bucky for the first time in the middle of the day near the frontlines. Definitely not the time for that.

He has no indication that whatever is between Sam and Natasha is a sex thing or a romance thing or a thing at all. He keeps an eye out, though, sees how they touch each other casually, how Natasha will rest her head on Sam’s shoulder.

Steve feels warm watching them, a little bead of happiness amid their daily stresses. But there’s also a desire to join them, to stretch out over their laps, to let Natasha play with his hair and Sam rub circles over his shoulder.

He isn’t sure that he and Bucky will ever be together again, but in Steve’s ideal fantasies, he can reach out a hand and grab Bucky’s, pull it to his lips, and glance up to see Bucky smiling down at him next to Natasha.

Bucky mentions the new relationship first. He has started to ask questions about everything, because, he says, “I can’t assume anything right now. If people don’t tell me, I won’t know for sure. I need to know for sure.”

Natasha and Sam both think it’s a good step. “Because as humans, we need to ask questions, of both ourselves and others,” Sam says.

“It breaks the control they have over you,” Natasha says, her tone dark. “They stop you asking questions, you can’t think for yourself. You have no power.”

In this instance, Sam and Natasha are watching a movie, curled up together on the couch and sharing a bowl of popcorn.

Steve works on sketches. He picked up drawing again recently, and he finds it soothing. Bucky walks in, hair still damp from the shower, and first glances at Steve’s work. “What’s that?” he asks, pointing to a scribble in the corner.

“Just making sure the pen worked.” Steve tilts his sketchpad so Bucky can see the rest. It’s just a doodle of Sam and Natasha on the couch, nothing complex and a bit cartoony.

Bucky settles down on the floor by Steve’s feet. His hair brushes against Steve’s jeans, water soaking through, but Steve doesn’t mind. He absently lets his fingers trail over Bucky’s hair. Bucky lets him touch him like that, just simple expressions of affection. Bucky leans his head in, and Steve takes the opportunity to take sip of water.

“So how long have you two been dating?” Bucky asks the other two.

Steve almost chokes. Sam and Natasha look just as surprised. They glance at one another, then back at Bucky.

“Dating is…” Sam begins, looking to Natasha for guidance.

“Close enough to the right term,” she says. “Just a month or so. Why? You jealous?” She wraps an arm around Sam, pulling him in for a peck on the check.

Bucky considers the question before answering, “Maybe.”

Steve’s heart hurts. He thought he had accepted the current state of their relationship, but maybe not. “Of which?” he asks.

Bucky again considers. “Both.”

Sam grins. “Damn right. We’re too hot for this room.”

That breaks the tension. Sam and Natasha go back to their movie, Steve goes back to his drawing, and Bucky leans in a little closer.

\--

Sam and Steve’s savings only take them so far. The month before Natasha appears on their doorstep, Steve finds a job doing stock and inventory at a clothing store.

“It’s a bit weird having Captain America fold panties half the day,” his boss, May Parker, says one day.

“Better than hawking papers in the middle of summer,” Steve says with a playful grin. “That wasn’t fun.”

“Oh, don’t I know it. My brother would come home swearing up a storm after a boiling day.”

Steve likes May a lot. Although her hair is grey, face lined with wrinkles, and her hands shake with growing arthritis, she is always up for talking about her childhood. It makes Steve feel at home, listening to her tell him story after story. He has a few to share of his own, and they compare notes.

“I was only about, oh, nine when the war started,” she says. “Wasn’t feeling too good, so I was home asleep. Then my mom comes in just shaking with the news we were in it. Crowded around the radio to hear the president talk.”

Steve holds the dress he is putting on a hanger in his hands, just remembering. For him, it was just several years ago. “Tried to enlist, they rejected me. Didn’t stop me in the end, though.”

May places a hand on Steve’s arm. He follows it up, small and wrinkled, to May’s face, just as small, just as wrinkled. Her expression is warm and open. “You got a second chance, Steve. We all knew what you did for us, your sacrifice. But I’m glad you have this second chance.”

Steve adopts his best seductive face. “Well, in that case, if you’re not doing anything Friday night, you, me, and a movie?”

That makes her laugh as intended. “Let me just tell my husband first.”

One day, just as Steve is finishing up his shift, the store closed a good hour now, he stops to look at some new skirts they just got in. There are a few of them in larger sizes that just might fit him. He wonders how they would look.

He holds one up against his waist and gives a little twirl. It flairs out nicely, though there isn’t any way to see if it would do the same when he wore it.

“You want, I’ll leave the changing room lights on for a bit.”

Steve startles at May’s words. He spins, still holding the skirt up. “I… I just…”

May laughs, though she covers her mouth as if to pretend she isn’t. “Oh, Steve. I don’t care what you were doing. But if you do want me to leave the lights on a little longer, just let me know.”

After that, it becomes routine. When new clothes arrive, May leaves the lights on after Steve’s shift, letting him try on different clothes. With his employee’s discount, it makes them a lot cheaper, and his closet soon grows.

He doesn’t wear them out, but he’ll close the door to his room, tiny as it is, and try on different outfits.

\--

When he comes home one evening, he finds Natasha draping a blanket across Sam, who is asleep on the couch. He sighs in his sleep and snuggles more under the blanket.

“Welcome home,” Natasha says. She eyes the shopping bag in his hand. “Present for yourself?”

“Oh, uh, just a little something from work.” He knows he’s blushing, just a little, but the lights are low. Natasha probably doesn’t notice. Of course, he works at a women’s clothing store, so there’s no doubt what variety of clothing it is.

Natasha pulls the blanket just a little further up on Sam. Then she steps around, nodding toward the kitchen.

She makes them both herbal tea. Steve takes a seat at the table, and Natasha half sits on it., one leg on the floor, one dangling down.

As it steeps, Steve says, “You two work well together, don’t you?”

Natasha smiles. She often talks about masks, but this isn’t one. “Sam is… different. He said I could take what I want. So I did.”

“You really like each other.”

“And we like you a lot, Steve.”

“Aw, shucks, really?”

Natasha doesn’t laugh. Her focus is completely on Steve. He shifts, unused to being in the center of Natasha’s attention. Maybe that’s why Natasha is so good at being a spy. She always splits her concentration, but it doesn’t feel like it. Now, however, there is no split.

Natasha leans forward and kisses him. It’s like in the mall, sudden, hot. Natasha tangles her fingers in his hair, sucks his lip into her mouth.

Steve flexes his hands, caught between wanting to pull her in and push her away, because as much as he wants this, Sam is in the next room.

Then she opens her mouth, deepening the kiss, and all he can do is hold on. There’s a pressure slowly growing in his groin.

Just as suddenly as the kiss started, Natasha stops and pulls away. She swipes her thumb underneath his bottom lip, cleaning up the spit. Steve stares, mouth hanging open.

“Good night, Steve,” she says. She leans forward again, but this time, she gives him a chaste kiss on the forehead. She leaves, taking her tea with her.

Steve rests his head against the table. He stays there for a long while, taking deep breaths. Every time he thinks he knows Natasha, she throws something at him that leaves him reeling. This is no exception.

He decides to drink his tea. It helps to calm him down. It’s well after midnight by the time he heads to his room. Sam is no longer on the couch, blanket folded neatly in his place, and Steve feels a pang of guilt.

To top off the night, he finds Bucky in his room, closet door wide open, and Steve’s clothes, his women’s clothing, are strewn around the room. Bucky sits crosslegged in front of the closet amid the mess.

He holds one of Steve’s skirts in his hands. His metal fingers trace the black swirls that are embroidered on the red fabric.

Steve coughs lightly, to alert Bucky of his presence. Bucky doesn’t look up. “Didn’t know you had these,” Bucky says. He lifts it up to examine the skirt as a whole.

“Don’t know why,” Steve says, coming in and starting to collect some of them, throwing them into a pile on the bed. “Kind of a waste of money.”

“Do you mean that?” Bucky looks at him then. It’s not that he doesn’t understand what Steve doesn’t say. He just needs to hear it.

“No,” Steve says at last. He sinks onto the bed, holding his hand out for the skirt. Bucky hands it over. “There just is no time to wear any of them.”

“You could do it here,” Bucky says. There’s a moment of silence before he adds, “I’d like it if you did. Though you’ve certainly outgrown Becky’s old things.”

Steve holds his breath. It’s the first time Bucky has brought up any of his family. “Buck,” he says. “I’m sorry.”

Becky’s grandchildren have families of their own already. She is buried with her husband in upstate New York. His other sister and brother, Hannah and George, are buried in Quebec and Montana respectively.

Bucky shrugs. “They had to bury me first. You had to bury me first.”

He leans back until his head rests in Steve’s lap. He closes his eyes and lets Steve rub small circles against his temples with his thumbs. Bucky says, almost too quiet for Steve to hear, “I loved you.”

Steve’s eyes burn. He holds back the tears as best he can. “I’ll always love you, Buck. Always have, always will.”

Bucky hums. They stay like that for several moments longer. Steve thinks Bucky has fallen asleep, his breathing even, but then Bucky shifts. “I want to see Peggy.”

“Okay,” Steve says. “We’ll do that.”

Bucky curls up against Steve that night. Nothing happens; it’s platonic, like they were young boys again. In the morning, as Bucky showers, Steve picks up his clothes and rehangs them. He finds, to his embarrassment, that Bucky also went through his underwear. There are stockings and panties in a pile, along with a bra that Steve still hasn’t decided if he wants. He buries his face in his hands, breathing slowly, trying to recompose himself.

He still can’t quite look Bucky in the eye without turning red for the rest of the morning.

\--

As Peggy’s next of kin, they ask Sharon before they visit. Sam and Natasha stay behind; Steve and Bucky drive down to DC on their own. Steve pulls up a mix Sam made for him on his ipod, and they listen to a mixture of music from the last several decades.

Steve almost slams on the gas when “Star-Spangled Man With a Plan” comes on. “Sam, you fucker,” he mutters, as the chorus fills the car.

Beside him, Bucky lets out a snort of laughter. He claps a hand to his mouth and looks determinedly out through his window.

Bucky doesn’t laugh as much these days, but Steve loves when he does. So he turns up the music a little louder and starts singing along.

He can’t sing worth a damn; they tried that in early rehearsals, and it was scrapped as soon as Steve opened his mouth. He uses that to his advantage, going over the top falsetto to match the chorus. Whenever one of his original speaking parts come up, just an instrumental in this recording, he makes up whatever comes into his head.

“Buy your stretch of highway today! Travel for the people!” he shouts. “Visa and Mastercard accepted, step right up, freedom is just a check away.”

Bucky clutches his sides as he laughs, head buried between his car seat and window.

“Stop,” he gasps out. “Steve, stop.”

Steve finishes the song with a single long held note, vibrato, which is about the only vocal lingo he knows.

After that, Bucky takes control of the music, and the rest of the trip is easy and smooth, jokes shot back and forth, genuine smiles, smartass insults.

Bucky has a darker humor these days, but Steve doesn’t care. He’s still Bucky.

Bucky goes quiet when they arrive at the care center. Steve goes in first, to prepare Peggy. Everytime he visits, it’s the first time for her all over again. It’s a good half hour before she’s feeling stable, before she jokes with Steve as if they were on the battlefield together only yesterday.

“Peggy, there’s something important I need to tell you…”

It’s then that Bucky enters. Peggy catches her breath, stares. “I… Steve?” she says, glancing between him and Bucky. “Who is this?”

Bucky’s expression remains stoic. Steve takes Peggy’s hand in his. “It’s Bucky. He’s alive.”

Peggy’s eyes run down Bucky’s face, follows his left arm down. He’s wearing a t-shirt, so the metal gleams in the light.

“It’s a day for miracles,” Peggy says at last. “You keep surprising me. But that’s what keeps you interesting.”

She holds out a hand for Bucky. He takes it with his right hand.

They talk for a long time. Peggy comments on how much older Bucky looks. Bucky doesn’t explain, just says, “It’s been rough.”

“I can’t imagine,” Peggy says. “Oh, Bucky, it’s good to see you. It’s so good to see both of you.” She turns to Steve. “Could you give us a minute? I’d like to speak with Barnes alone.”

“I’ll be right outside.” He kisses Peggy’s hand and heads toward the door.

It speaks of Peggy’s condition that as soon as he’s out of sight, he might as well not exist. She begins speaking to Bucky before Steve has even made it to the door.

“I hope you two are happy,” she says. “Do you remember what you said to me?”

Steve slips out; he doesn’t want to overhear this. It makes him uneasy, an uninvited voyeur. This is something between Bucky and Peggy. He is not part of that.

Bucky is in there a long time. When Steve feels a touch against his shoulder, he jerks awake, tense, but it’s only Bucky. He can’t believe he dozed off. He relaxes and catches Bucky’s hand before he can pull away. “You two done?”

Bucky nods. He looks at Steve as if seeing him for the first time. His fingers reach out and trace Steve’s features, running down his cheeks, across his nose, underneath his lip. Bucky’s touch is so light, it tickles Steve’s skin. He wants to close his eyes, wants Bucky to never stop touching him like this, but Bucky’s face shifts as he explores Steve’s. Steve does not want to miss those slight changes.

Bucky goes from curiosity to wonder to familiarity. “I know you, Steve Rogers,” he says. “I know you.”

It’s something Bucky has said before. But there’s a difference this time. Bucky doesn’t say it as if there’s something strange about it, something to discover. He says it as an affirmation, as certain knowledge. It’s a declaration, not exploration. Bucky knows Steve.

“Let’s go home,” Steve says. He holds Bucky’s palm against his cheek.

Bucky gives him one last surprise. He ducks down and presses his lips briefly against Steve’s. He comes back up with a smile. “Yeah.”

\--

Something is different when they get home. Bucky notices it first. “They’re fighting,” he says to Steve.

Sam overhears. “That’s none of your business, Barnes. Now, do you want to eat in or out tonight?”

They end up reheating leftovers. Sam and Natasha are still talking, but there’s a reservation there that wasn’t the day before.

Steve feels - knows - he’s somehow part of it.

The fight continues for several more days. It’s not apparent; it stays just below the surface, tainting the easy atmosphere they used to have. Natasha starts spending more time with Bucky.

Steve takes the opportunity one afternoon to speak with Sam alone.

They open up beers and sit outside on the deck. “It’s been a while, just the two of us,” Steve says.

“Yeah.” Sam takes a swig. “It’s nice, this.”

Before they found Bucky, Steve wanted there to be something more between them. He still does, but it’s all confused and mixed up. Bucky wants Steve again, and Steve still wants Bucky. He’s in love with Bucky and always will be. But then there’s Sam and Natasha, who both leave him with a fluttering heart and sweaty palms.

“So, you and Natasha… You two going to be okay?”

Sam looks amused at that. He raises an eyebrows as he takes another sip of his beer. “It’s nothing for you to worry about. We’ll be fine.”

Steve shared a small space with Sam long enough to know he’s not telling him everything. “I worry about you two, that’s all. I’m here if you need to talk.”

Sam grimaces, gripping his beer a little tighter. “It’s… It’s about you, okay? That what you want to hear?”

Steve swallows, heavy. “Not what I wanted, but what I expected.”

Sam lets out a sharp bark of laughter. “Smooth, Steve, real smooth.”

Steve waits for Sam to continue. He can’t push, not now that he’s the point of contention between the two. Not when he kissed Natasha back.

Finally, Sam sighs. “Look, it’s… it’s dumb, okay? It’s got nothing to do with you and her. It’s about…” Sam runs a hand over his head. “Man, this is harder than I thought it would be.”

“Tell me.” It’s better to have the truth out in the open. It’s something he’s learned with Bucky over the past several months, between his pointed questions and dark confessions.

“It’s about you and Bucky.”

Steve doesn’t understand. He tenses. “Bucky is staying,” he says, tone allowing no discussion on the matter. “I’m staying with him.”

Sam quickly shakes his head. “That’s not it. It’s that you two, you have history. And you’re getting back together, anyone with eyes can see that.”

“Then… what exactly do you mean?” He isn’t sure he and Bucky are going to be like they were before just before Bucky fell. Steve would like it to be, but he’ll take whatever Bucky is comfortable with.

“You’re sex on legs, Steve.” Sam stands, suddenly frustrated. “You were there with me all those months, and damned if I didn’t… You’re hot, dude. But more than that, you’ve got this attraction, this charisma that just draws people to you. And you’re so good. And me and Natasha, we both like that. We both want you.”

Steve recalls Natasha’s words. “We like you,” she had said.

“But there was you and Bucky, and… And if there hadn’t been, we might have approached you together. But it would have been together, and she didn’t talk to me at all about it. It was against what we had agreed. We agreed not to get between you and Bucky, to not jeopardize what you had.”

Steve doesn’t know what to say. He can’t process exactly what Sam is saying. There’s a flare of hope in him, but it’s jumbled. It’s coming out as Sam and Natasha or Bucky, and that’s all wrong.

“What if I care for all of you?” Steve says.

Sam stares at him for a moment before shaking his head. “Come on, Cap.” It’s been a long time since Sam called him that. It makes Sam distant. “Don’t tease me here.”

Without Steve realizing it, he’s hurt Sam. This whole talk has been not about how Sam feels about Natasha, but what they both feel about Steve.

“Look, Sam, I-”

“Don’t.” Sam looks lost all of a sudden. “Just. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything. This is between me and Tasha, and just forget I said anything.”

Sam walks back into the house before Steve can respond.

Steve stays out there a long time. Eventually, Bucky comes out and joins him. “You alright?”

Bucky takes Steve’s hand. It’s with his metal hand. Steve entwines their fingers and brings their joined hands up to his chest.

“When you had… died, Peggy told me something. She said you were fine with the two of us being together. If it meant that you and I were still…” He bites his lip. He’s making an assumption, and he can’t continue until he clears it. “Are we, Buck? Are we together?”

Bucky pulls Steve in for a gentle kiss. “Yes,” Bucky says against Steve’s skin, “so long as you’re willing. I am.”

\--

Steve and Bucky talk for a long while about it. In the meantime, Sam and Natasha resolve their issues, and they are more affectionate with each other for it. Maybe in part due to their conversations, or maybe because Sam and Natasha draw more attention to themselves, he catches Bucky watching them. There’s longing in his gaze.

Steve wraps his arms around Bucky, nuzzles his neck. “If you don’t want to be part of this, we don’t have to.”

“I do,” Bucky says. “Not just for you. For myself.” He draws Steve away to Steve’s bedroom. They kiss without any rush, enjoying the feel of one another. Then Bucky says, “Do you want to dress up for it?”

Steve’s whole body flushes. He still hasn’t gotten around to wearing any of his nice clothes. But Bucky is offering him an opportunity here, an opportunity that Steve knows he can take with no consequences.

Sam and Natasha have already both accepted that about him. So he picks something out and lets Bucky dress him.

It’s the red skirt Bucky held that one night. He picks a sleeveless white blouse to go with it. It feels free and summery, perfect for the weather that is still holding out, even as September closes in.

“You ready for this?” he asks Bucky.

Bucky smirks up at him and brushes down the blouse. “You’ll knock ‘em dead.”

Steve doesn’t have practice at seduction, nor does he have much practice at relationships. He’s only ever had Bucky, and that has totaled only a couple months at best. But Steve wants this. Bucky wants this. And he’s going to find out if Sam and Natasha do, too.

Natasha is alone in the living room, reading a book. It’s in Russian, but from the picture, it’s obviously Alice in Wonderland. Natasha giggles and snorts at the same time, an inelegant sound that has her putting her hand to her face to hide her grin.

“Why read the translation?” Steve asks, coming over. Natasha glances up at him, and when she sees his outfit, her brows raise. But it’s a good sign, if her smile is anything to go by.

“You wouldn’t get it, Steve, but here, James…” She points to the page and reads aloud. Whatever it is has Bucky give a short barking laugh. “And earlier… Let me see if I can find it…” Bucky leans in, over her shoulder, as she flips through the pages. They look good together, and they fit well together. Natasha puts Bucky at ease, because she’s proof that someone can go to the edge and still come back. With Bucky, Natasha can feel less isolated. Though their experiences aren’t exact, they have enough in common that they lean on each other for proof of normalcy. Together, they aren’t just weapons.

As Natasha points out different passages in the book, she says something which cracks Bucky up. He clings to the sofa, trying to control himself, but he’s losing.

From the way Natasha spoke, Steve can guess exactly what kind of joke it was.

“Just start your own book club already.” Steve says, exasperated. It’s affectionate, though. He heads to the record player and pages through their collection. “Russian only, must enjoy dirty jokes.”

“Oh, come on, Steve,” Natasha says, “like you have a sense of humor as pure as the driven snow.”

“Well, I don’t speak Russian, so I guess you’ll never know.” He picks out Duke Ellington, and as the music fills the room, he dances a few steps.

“You should let us teach you sometime,” Bucky says. There’s no humor in his words this time. His voice is low, filled with suggestion. “Put that mouth of yours to work.”

Natasha lets out a little noise, the slightest uncontrolled sound. For her, that one noise speaks volumes. She shifts in her seat, recrossing her legs.

“Such ideas you boys have,” she murmurs as she puts the book down.

Natasha’s interest is clear; if her kiss the month before didn’t tell enough, that certainly does. But Steve isn’t starting anything without Sam there.

Fortunately, he walks in just then, fresh from a shower.

He stops when he sees Steve. His grin grows slowly, lighting up his eyes, wrinkles forming at the corners. “Beautiful,” he says. Sam is loose with his praise; Steve is very happy for it.

He approaches Steve and holds out a hand. “May I?”

“Such a gentleman,” Steve says, before curtsying as best he can. Sam sweeps him up and spins him around. Behind them, Natasha whistles.

They spend the evening just having fun. Eventually, Sam and Steve convince Natasha and Bucky to join them, and they swap dancing partners without thought. Steve, turning out from a spin from Natasha, grabs Bucky’s hand and pulls him in. Bucky holds onto Sam, so he gets tugged in, too. They all crash into each other in a laughing heap, and Steve hangs on.

This is what he wants.

The record ends, a soft thwump thwump replacing the notes. They still hang on to each other, though their smiles fade. They stand in a little circle, pulled against one another, faces close.

“I love you all,” Steve says quietly. “I need you to all know that. I love you all without exception.”

There’s a half laugh from Sam. “Way to put us on the spot, Steve.” Steve meets his eyes, and all he sees is love. “Could have come to this conclusion a while ago, saved all of us a bit of grief.”

“We make a sorry set,” Natasha says. “I mean really, two old men, a guy who can’t get his head out of the clouds, and then me, who really is out of your league. But I’ll stick around if you make it it worth my while.”

“We can do that,” Bucky says.

Steve tips his head forward. He feels warm all through, and he can’t stop the smile that crosses his face. He laughs, joyful, full of relief.

There’s been so much over the years, but now Steve feels like he’s home.

Sam lets go of Steve to tilt his chin up. Sam says, in a whisper, “May I?”

Steve meets him halfway. Sam’s kiss is different than Natasha’s or Bucky’s. His beard scrapes gently against Steve’s skin, and then he’s pulling Steve in. He feels a hand in his hair, and he breaks away to see Natasha smiling at him with a look that sends shivers down his spine. She, too, kisses him, and this time, he responds in turn.

Bucky cuts in with a cough. “Share and share alike,” Natasha says, giving him a quick kiss before letting Steve and Bucky meet in front of her.

\--

They order all kinds of take out. There’s Chinese and Thai; there’s pizza with breadsticks; there are tacos and nachos; there are french fries and burgers; and there’s an assortment of drinks, from alcoholic to juice to soda. They eat on the living room floor, a makeshift indoor picnic, with the spread so wide, it doesn’t all fit on the coffee table.

It’s been almost a month since this thing between them started. Relationship, it’s a relationship, although not a common one. Somehow, they all click together, and it makes everything better. It’s been the best month of Steve’s life, even with the week they spent stopping a renegade robot. They are still recovering from it, but with luck, the four of them got through relatively unscathed.

Natasha has a burn at her temple, but it’s healing. Bucky’s wounds are almost gone, and Steve healed in just a matter of days. Sam managed to not take any hits.

Out of the four of them, Steve eats the most. He packs it away, pizza slice after burger after box of lo mein. Bucky goes through almost as much. Sam and Natasha, understandably, eat less, but that doesn’t stop them from tearing through the food, too.

There are plenty of leftovers, and Steve and Natasha volunteer to stick it all in the fridge. When they return, Sam is nestled between Bucky’s legs, their hands entwined and resting on Sam’s stomach.

“Hey,” Sam says to them, a dopey grin on his face. “You should join us.”

“Sam Wilson, you are full of brilliant ideas,” Natasha says, settling down next to him. “I mean that.”

Steve chooses to sit so he can see them all, which is by Sam’s feet. He spreads his skirt around him, knees tucked underneath. Sam pokes him with a toe, and Steve catches his foot, putting it in his lap.

Bucky leans down then to kiss Sam. It starts out sweet, but quickly deepens. Steve rubs Sam’s foot, which makes him gasp into Bucky’s mouth. Natasha rubs circles down Bucky’s back and across Sam’s chest for a long while, until she decides to crawl over to Steve. She takes his head between her hands, whispers, “You’re beautiful,” and then presses her body against his, capturing his lips.

Steve gets lost in her touch, letting his hands roam her body. He doesn’t notice at first the change in positions until Sam is at his side, hands trailing down his torso, and Bucky is behind him, stroking his hair.

“Want to see you,” Bucky says. “Dressed all fine for us.”

Natasha releases him; Sam gives him a hand up.

Steve stands in front of them, wearing a light red dress that cinches underneath his bust, the skirt flaring out. With his shoulders bare, Bucky can run his hands up and down Steve’s arms. His metal hand isn’t as cold as it usually is, warmed from Sam’s body earlier.

Music starts playing, suddenly, something low and modern that Steve doesn’t recognize. But Natasha sweeps up Steve in her arms and spins him around. He’s passed between the three, until they end up in a huddle again, but this time, Bucky sucks at the back of his neck, Natasha mouths his collarbone, and Sam nibbles on his ear.

It’s all heat and want between them. Steve reaches out, touches who he can, stroking arms, sides, breasts, all still clothed. Sam fits his leg between Steve’s thigh, and the dress proves no obstacle, not like jeans or trousers. Steve grinds down, panting. Bucky’s fingers move down his back, opening the dress, to which Natasha murmurs a word of thanks before latching onto a nipple.

Steve has to lean against Bucky as Sam and Natasha tease him. He’s not sure where to put his hands, so he alternates, first gripping Natasha’s hair and Sam’s shoulder, then reaching behind to cling to Bucky. When he leans his head back, Bucky takes the chance to suck at his neck, just below his chin.

As a unit, they shift slowly downward, to the floor, until Steve is on his back, head resting right against Bucky’s groin, and Natasha is sitting on his chest as she pulls at his nipples, and Sam flips up Steve’s skirt to run his tongue along Steve’s inner thigh. He pulls back to tell Steve, “Lace black panties, I very much approve.”

“Let’s keep them on,” Natasha decides. “I want to see you in nothing but.”

Steve groans, feels his cock harden a bit more.

Natasha slips off him, and they hike up the skirt so that it bunches around his belly. Natasha makes an appreciative noise.

They go fully into it then. Positions shift, Natasha ends up sitting on Steve’s face, pants and underwear gone. Steve licks into her, licks at her clit, and she shudders above him. He hears her kiss someone, Sam he finally decides, because of the metal that he feels behind his knee where Bucky must be.

Natasha is the first to come, riding Steve’s face. She slips off, and Sam wastes no time in leaning forward to kiss Steve and lick up the slick evidence of Natasha’s orgasm from his face.

It’s early in the game, though. He feels a cold metal finger press right behind his balls, and then lower. Steve gasps, pushes first away and then toward it. “Bucky,” he says, though it comes out as little more than a whine.

“I want to fuck you while you still have the dress on,” Bucky says. “Then Natasha can have you however she wants.”

“Sounds good to me,” Natasha agrees.

Bucky slicks up his metal fingers and slowly presses one into Steve. Sam leans over at an awkward angle to kiss Steve again, but this time he’s panting. Steve glances down to see Natasha’s lips wrapped around the head of Sam’s cock.

Bucky continues to open Steve up, going frustratingly slow. But with Bucky’s free hand on his knee, Sam’s wrapped around Steve’s own hand, and Natasha’s rubbing circles over his belly grounds him, he finds patience. With these three, Steve can do anything.

He watches Natasha take down Sam to the hilt, just once, and then she comes up to kiss him, hand running over his cock and down to his balls.

Steve gives a tug on Sam’s hand. “Let me,” he pants out.

Again, they shift until Steve is on his hands and knees, Bucky behind him, Sam in front. Natasha sits on his back and begins to rub herself along his spine.

Steve only needs to support himself with one hand, so he gives Sam the best blowjob he can, taking the head of Sam’s cock into his mouth, using his free hand to stroke the base, then reach behind to brush just behind his balls. Sam’s hands tangle in Steve’s hair, and with a nod from Steve, he starts to pull at it. He guides Steve, so Steve can just enjoy the feel of the three of them around him.

He hears the tear of a wrapper, and then the head of Bucky’s cock pushes against him. Sam doesn’t stop fucking Steve’s mouth as Bucky slides in, and Natasha moans above him, presses down hard, and Steve has to focus on keeping his back straight.

Having sex with the three of them is a flow of give and take. They shift, almost as one, although they don’t plan much ahead. They take turns, sometimes just with one or two, sometimes as a group. Sometimes they focus on one person, sometimes they focus on all.

Steve finds himself the focus tonight, even as Sam pulls out, rolls on a condom, and lets Natasha ride him to orgasm.

He’s the focus, because when Bucky comes, pulls out and discards the condom, they spin him around, so that Bucky can kiss him with long lazy kisses, and Sam and Natasha’s fingers delve deep into Steve, stretching him a little wider, brushing his prostate, making him shudder.

He’s the focus because Natasha, after riding Sam to a second orgasm, pulls him up to a standing position and lets the dress fall down.

“Perfect,” she breathes, eyes raking down his body. She tugs off her shirt; she’s not wearing a bra, so she then just pushes her breasts against Steve’s chest, a hand reaching down to brush the underside of his cock.

The combination of her touch and the lace has him shivering with want. He grinds up into her hands, looking for something to hold on to, and Sam and Bucky appear at his side at once.

“You’re gorgeous, Steve,” she says. “The moment I saw you, I knew how perfect you would look like this.” She shifts, making her breasts rub down his torso, and then steps back.

He moans at the loss of contact, but then someone’s fingers are in him again, and another set brush against his sac.

The panties are ruined at the point, soaked through with precome, but Steve doesn’t care. He wants someone to properly touch him, to jerk him off, to let him come.

Bucky turns Steve’s head toward him, swallows down his next moan as Natasha’s fingers brush against his cock again.

They stay poised like that, Natasha’s touch feather light, as she describes in detail a number of fantasies she has. She talks about Steve bound, on his knees, wearing nothing but a pearl necklace. She talks about riding him until he can’t come anymore. She talks about watching Sam and Bucky taking turns with him until he has no energy left but to let her fuck him with her fist. She talks about taking him in public, ducking out of some event to find a dark corner and having him eat her out until she comes.

They won’t do most of her fantasies, but she enjoys describing them, enjoys watching Steve get hard at the thought. Steve breaths slowly out, then asks her to let him come.

“Soon.”

Sam kisses Bucky first, then Steve, before slipping to his knees to press his mouth against Steve’s cock. He works Steve through the lace, and Steve stares at the sight, at Sam’s mouth pressed open against the lace, at Natasha’s fingers as she strokes Sam’s head.

Finally, Sam pulls the panties down just far enough to release Steve’s cock. Steve groans at the sensation of Sam taking him in, groans when he pulls off and just jerks Steve to orgasm. Bucky presses his fingers into Steve, and then he comes, over himself, over Sam’s hand.

He only goes soft for a moment. Natasha kisses him hard, bites his lips until it stings. Then she slips back toward the couch, legs spread.

Bucky puts the condom on Steve before he sinks into Natasha. He goes slowly for awhile, hands braced on the couch on either side of her head. But Bucky nudges one arm away so he can kiss Natasha and finger her clit.

Sam’s hands run down Steve’s back before cupping his ass. This gives Steve enough time to come to a stop so that Sam can push into him.

It’s not a very comfortable position, crammed onto the couch as they are, but Steve groans at the feel of fucking into Natasha, Bucky’s fingers occasionally brushing the base of his cock, and the feel of Sam stretching him open, fucking into him at the same pace he fucks Natasha.

Steve manages to glance Natasha’s hand wrapped around Bucky’s cock before he drops his head to her shoulder.

He stays like that until he comes. He fucks Natasha through it, and not long after, Sam follows suit. A grunt from Bucky indicates his own release, and then Natasha comes last.

They fall into a sweaty, slick heap. Steve’s panties still cup his balls, and he struggles until he can pull them off, tossing them aside.

They should get up and clean themselves off, but no one cares to. Someone’s hand, Bucky’s perhaps, brushes the hair from Steve’s forehead. Sam brings one of his hands to rest against Steve’s sternum, and Natasha grips one of Steve’s to her chest.

“I love you,” Steve says. It’s meant for all of them, and he closes his eyes, enjoying their gentle touches.

At age 13, Steve wanted to look older.

Now, he dresses up because he just wants to. Now, he dresses up because it makes him feel beautiful. Now, he dresses up because he wants to be undressed by the three most important people to him.

Now, he dresses up because it’s part of who he is.

Steve has found his home, and it’s here nestled between Sam, Natasha, and Bucky, with Steve’s dress laying forgotten in the corner.


End file.
